Mello stared at him, listening without it doing anything for his disgust, and tried to wrench his bruised and scraped hand away.

"Then you will never get what you want," he hissed. "Because I guarantee that I'll just keep hating you." He paused, processing that new bit of information, and added with utter loathing, "Especially if you set me up for this."

He'd been drawn out. The chill making his skin prickle had nothing to do with his lack of clothing. He'd been drawn out specifically to be captured, and he'd played right into this fucker's hand. He could barely believe it, and that hatred for Sephiroth was starting to leak into self-loathing too, for being so goddamn careless and stupid and-- He fucking hated the bastard, dammit.